


Relax

by samtheboyking



Series: Bottom Dean [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do eventually get their own room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax

**Author's Note:**

> So I decided to pick up the continuation I started (literally) months ago. A bit of a New Year's resolution.

As it turns out, they don't end up getting separate rooms until about five months down the road.

Sam and he had just finished up a case in Estacada, and after thirty-four sleepless hours, eight flares, five victims, and one wendigo, _extra crispy_ , both of them were well and thoroughly exhausted. Covered in grime and sweat from trekking through the Pacific Northwest's backwoods--fuck nature with all its trees and rocks and dirt--the only thing on their minds is a hot shower and a warm bed to crash on.

The first place off the 224 they come across is The Shady Pines, and it's with only a short huff for consultation that Dean ends up turning the wheel and taking the exit ramp. The parking lot is no more than a bed of gravel, and they're welcomed by a red neon flicker reading _CANCY._ It'll do though, despite how truly shady the place appears.

In all honesty, ordering two rooms when they get to the front desk turns out to be entirely unintentional. Dean's mouth is working faster than his fatigued brain can catch up with, but once he does get up to speed Dean is casting a sidelong glance in Sam's direction. If his brother is at all surprised at the request for separate rooms, Sam doesn't give away a thing; which is fortunate, Dean doubting he could have explained this Freudian slip.

Instead, they each grab a key, cabin numbers seven and eight- because The Shady Pines doesn't have rooms, it has _cabins_ , which are rustic and authentic and filthy, just like the surrounding environment. They head their separate ways, only confirming that they'll reconvene at breakfast through the use of monosyllabic grunts and a nod shared between them, both Sam and Dean disappearing behind their respective doors.

The room is...well, it's a room, in the sense that there's four walls and roof, and that's what ultimately matters. Dean tries to keep this in mind when he finds out there are two clear tv channels (Cutlery Corner and The Jewelry Center) and reiterates the fact when he makes his way into the bathroom and is staring down at the dirty pink-brown ring around the shower drain.

Beggars can't be choosers though, and he's had worse. Hell, they'd had their fair share of nights spent in the Impala when they were in between credit card scams, so running water is practically a luxury. He shouldn't be complaining, despite having grown accustomed to Magic Fingers and the SyFy channel.

Besides, it's not like Dean is actually expecting to utilize the room for anything other than a good night's rest and then be on his way. His sleep deprived brain may have made the executive decision to prepare for a full blown lust driven night with zero limitations on the range of his vocal chords, but his body is in clear revolt against anything that doesn't include him collapsing onto the mattress; sans any rigorous activity. And it's not as if Dean knows whether or not Cas planned on showing tonight, anyway.

So when Dean is pulling himself from the shower and smears his hand across the fog accumulated on the mirror to find Cas's reflection staring back, he nearly jumps out of his skin, ends up whirling around and cracking his hip against the hard porcelain edge of the sink.

" _Shit_ ," Dean groans out, pitiful and whiny sounding, but he was ready to end his day about twelve hours ago. He winces at the throb pulsing against his hipbone, just one more addition to the long list of aches and pains he's wearing beneath his skin.

Castiel looks less than impressed with his display of grace and agility. "Hello, _Dean_."

He shoots the angel a withering look from beneath his brows, hand carding through wet hair. "Yeah, hey Cas."

Castiel doesn't seem fazed in the least at the bite in his tone, only trails Dean out of the bathroom as he makes his exit without another word. The duffle sitting at the end of the bed is unzipped, Dean's hand rummaging for a moment for a clean pair of shorts before he finds them, back still turned to Cas.

"Not that I'm not glad to see ya, Cas," Dean starts, towel dropping from around his waist and neck bending first to the right, then to the left, a satisfying crack sounding at each movement, "but I'm beat, man. I'm about ready to drop on my feet-"

The hand warm and curling over his hip--stopping the progress of the boxers he'd been pulling up his thighs--has Dean's words falling short, face looking back over his shoulder to find Cas studying him.

"You won't need these."

And fuck all if the deep rumble of Cas's voice doesn't have the tiniest of sparks flaring up low in his stomach, and Dean's pretty sure the angel has some weird sixth sense about this shit, can probably tell that it only takes a glance and a word to have his compliance. But fuck, is he ever tired. Cas is still waiting for a response, and Dean hasn't even noticed that the angel has successfully pulled his underwear right back off.

"Look, I'm glad you're here." Not a lie, considering how sporadic Castiel's angel agenda tended to be, meaning he could disappear for weeks at a time without so much as a note, and, Dean is _not_ ready to discuss how much that makes him sound like the clingy girlfriend here. "But I've been up for over a day, Cas. I've been dragged through the mud and chased by a demon-beast-creature and I had like, two fucking minutes of warm water in the shower. I need a little r-and-r."

He even feels exhausted from stringing together so many complete sentences, Dean's arms hanging uselessly at his sides while Cas turns him around fully, speculating, "You're tired." The angel nods and Dean tries not to roll his eyes at the obvious, holding Cas's gaze. He huffs air from his nose as hands glide lightly from shoulder to wrist, and then more firmly as Cas drops them to Dean's hips and rubs his thumbs along the angle of his pelvis. It's hard not to let his eyes flutter briefly, the stroke of Cas's fingers soothing, and Dean wouldn't put it past the angel to ease the ache that's made a home in his bones and muscles, isn't entirely sure if he's merely imagining that he feels less tense the longer Cas keeps his hands on him.

"Relax." The murmur is placed nearly against the curve of Dean's mouth. His eyes blink open, unaware that he'd been drifting off so well on the spot. Cas nudges his head towards the bed.

Without a fight Dean allows himself to be dragged onto the mattress, the crappy box spring letting out a whine as their weight presses down. He sinks onto his stomach, face mashing into the pillow, which is a little this side of too lumpy, but Dean thinks nothing of it as Cas's form eases down across his back.

The breath at his ear is warm, Dean exhaling slow as lips brush the shell, " _Relax_."

"You mentioned," Dean tries for a chuckle but doesn't get much past a sigh, bone-weary, and the hunter doesn't even attempt to keep his eyes open any longer, dingy light from the bedside lamp thankfully muted behind his eyelids.

"You can sleep, if you like."

At this Dean does manage to muster up a laugh, short and clipped as he feels Cas's weight resting just below his ass, the warmth of a chest pressing in close to Dean's shoulders. "Like you're gonna make that easy." Dean smiles nonetheless, mouth curving up against the pillowcase.

"I think you will find my methods relieving."

"Before you showed up I didn't need relieving," Dean mumbles, words a bit obscured but Castiel hears him all the same, Dean can tell by how the body atop his goes still.

"Would you rather I leave?"

"No." That's enough for Dean to open his eyes and strain his neck to see the angel sitting astride him. "No, I'd rather have you here." And he's certain on that point, even if his dick is getting gradually more interested the longer Cas perches there, the traitor. But besides the clear indication that he won't be afforded the chance to drop off right away, it is nice; the added weight against him like a security blanket, the heat shared between their skin when Cas presses down and forward washing over him.

There's no debate after that, both parties quiet as Dean lets Cas proceed as he will, the angel merely nuzzling the back of his hair at first, mouthing lightly at the nape of his neck and following down his shoulder. Cas wasn't far off the mark- there is a relief that comes with the angel's motions, languid and easy, each firm press of Cas's mouth or the eventual knead of his hands pulling the strain from Dean's form and replacing it with something gentler, and it feels like his entire body is slowly decompressing, not only from his most recent hunt, but perhaps an entire lifetime of putting himself through the wringer.

"You get your massage license while you were gone Cas?" Dean asks, words coming to him slow and hazy, most of his attention concentrated elsewhere, such as the gentle roll of his hips and arc of his spine. He's seen Cas's hands preform literal miracles but this has to rank on whole other level, beyond acts of God and angel mojo for how good it feels.

Cas doesn't grace him with an answering remark--for which Dean is thankful for--but merely sets in to using the pads of his thumbs to work along Dean's spine, pulling out an appreciative groan and the bend of the hunter's back against the pressure. "There," Dean mutters as Cas's hands crest over the small of his back, humming as the muscle is worked. There's the drag of Cas's semi-hard cock against his thigh as the angel shuffles downwards, the feel of which Dean hardly notices as another groan gets muffled into his pillow when Castiel palms and cups around the swell of his ass.

"Here?" Cas ventures, stroking down and then up again, fingertips just playing along Dean's crease, curling and pulling gently.

"Mmph." It's all Dean can be bothered to reply with, hips pushing back with purpose now and urging Cas to continue, a light sigh escaping as his cheeks are parted. Dean's legs shift further and Cas moves accordingly, slotting into place behind him as his thumb rolls across Dean's pucker. The hunter shivers. There's hardly any hope for an early night now.

"Easy." Cas's voice is hushed, and Dean's not sure what the angel is cautioning him against until the sensation of his thumb is lost momentarily and replaced by the long, firm swipe of Cas's tongue, from behind his balls all the way across his rim. Dean nearly swears, twice over for the chuckle the angel lets out afterward.

"Shit." Dean tries to stifle the noise into the pillow, sheets bunching up beneath his knees as the second lick--less tentative--runs a circle around his hole. His arms slide up beneath his pillow, hands finding the top of the mattress to grip.

Dean can't decide whether he wants to lean into the touch of Cas's tongue flicking over the edges of his hole or shrink away, unsure if the wet sound of Castiel's face between his legs is helping him to relax or merely threading more tension back into his muscles, though the tautness strung through his body now is much different than the soreness of fatigue. The next probing move of the angel's tongue has Dean burying himself face down and moaning full out, knees bending and pushing his ass back for more without further inhibitions, fully on board for the shallow licks Cas manages to press past the clench of his hole. "Shit, shit yeah-"

There's an unintelligible sound given in return, the vibrations of Cas's voice only serving to make Dean throw more curses into his pillow, a shot of pleasure traveling up his spine. Cas doesn't let up, either, palms keeping Dean open and tongue loosening up the resistance, until Cas is curling in, tongue going stiff and nose butting up to Dean's skin.

"Cas-"

"Hmm?"

" _Fuck._ "

"Are you relaxed?"

" _No._ " With Cas's tongue withdrawn Dean can feel himself trying to close around nothing, groans and squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

There's the dirty sound of Cas spitting, what Dean imagines are his fingers slicking together, and then the slow but steady press of two at his entrance, merely rubbing around his rim, already wet but practically making a mess of his hole now. Dean feels like sobbing, a pathetic, forlorn sort of noise until apparently, Cas has had enough with the teasing and pushes forward.

It takes a moment, Cas ever patient and Dean willing himself to release the breath he unintentionally held in, the both of them silent until the tips of Cas's fingers slip in and Dean feels himself open up. Christ, but it's been awhile.

"M'good," Dean mumbles, and to prove a point he pushes back the slightest, buries the two digits further and lets out a long breath. He's used to the burn and stretch by now, the preliminary ache which hardly lasts at all these days. Cas has always been careful with him, but Dean's also granted him the trust to gauge how much he can take. This- this is good, and Dean punctuates the fact by continuing to rock back until Cas relents and crooks his fingers deeper, other hand sliding up warm and smooth to keep Dean still by the small of his back.

Dean's pretty sure Cas is sluffing off angel duties to be here, and he couldn't be more grateful for it, voices his appreciation when Cas makes a pointed thrust of his fingers, buried to the last knuckle. "Fuck! There, there-" And he couldn't trace back to how they ever ended up here--Cas's affinity for having his fingers up his ass, and Dean's willingness to let Cas take what he wants--but it hardly seems out of the ordinary now for how his body has unclenched, no longer fighting the rhythm Cas is building up with his fingers pumping in and out. Their schedule may not consistent, but Dean will take what he can get.

"Good," Castiel murmurs and Dean's glad his face is buried, can feel the heat blooming beneath his cheeks and the roll of pleasure low in his stomach at the praise. His hole stretches further as Cas parts his fingers on the outstroke, catching his rim from inside and hooking. A third slips alongside the other two without much effort at all, added slickness that makes Dean think Cas must have spit again. He resorts to gnawing at his bottom lip, wiggling his hips back.

"C'mon, c'mon Cas..."

"You can make as much noise as you want, Dean." The next jab of his fingers is spot on, rubbing all the right ways and Dean practically keens at it, muscles of his back stringing tight before releasing all at once with the greedy clench of his hole. "Remember, that's why you got a separate room."

"That's not-" his protest is cut short, another relentless thrust of the angel's fingers, pumping faster, Dean caught between setting right his intentions of this evening when he got the damn room and letting Cas think whatever the fuck he wants, so long as he kept up the sweet drag that had Dean's balls beginning to tighten.

His cock is trapped against the bed, a constant dribble of precome leaking from his slit and creating one hell of a wet spot that Dean couldn't care less about now. He can feel the flush radiating from his neck, spreading across his shoulders and down his back, all the way to where Cas is fucking three fingers into his ass without breaking rhythm.

It doesn't occur to Dean that he hasn't even taken Cas's cock yet, one track mind pushing onwards towards the rapidly building pleasure, coiling tighter and winding him up until his teeth have pressed indents into his bottom lip, only breaking free with the first spurt of come shooting between the mattress and his stomach. It's a damn good thing they'd gotten separate rooms, he couldn't have kept himself quiet if he'd tried, a sharp cry and subsequent cursing as his dick twitches against the friction of rubbing himself against the sheets, fucking himself back onto the fingers buried in his hole which is tightening and releasing, squeezing around the fingers inside him. He's open mouthed and panting with his face pushed into his pillow, the string of noises falling from his mouth gradually dying off and body succumbing to the blackness overtaking his mind, points of color bursting beneath his eyes.

Dean's chest is heaving by the time he's beginning to come down, muscles still quaking and his rim swollen and twitching as Cas continues to rock his fingers back and forth, slower but still maddeningly sensitive. Dean's cries of pleasure soon transform into keens, and then whimpers, wordless pleas for Cas to stop because he can still feel himself spasming around Cas's fingers, until the angel's wrung the last dribble of come out of him and his cock twitches from the stimulation, too much and not enough, entirely sating and yet just short of throwing Dean past the breaking point.

He doesn't have energy enough to be embarrassed about how his voice shakes when he comes back to himself. "Cas."

"Are you relaxed?"

Dean waits until Cas slips his fingers free, another groan punched out at the sensation of being empty all of the sudden, hole still feeling sloppy open and loose. "Yeah." He huffs out a laugh, breath snuffling into the pillow and cheek turning to the side. Which is a gross understatement, Dean's muscles seeming to have relaxed beyond the point of corporeal existence. He feels heavy and light all at once, nerves buzzing and the air filling his lungs with a satisfying thrum. It's the placement of a warm hand at the side of his hip that draws Dean back, with a hum and a blink of his eyes, not having realized he'd closed them again. Or maybe he'd never opened them.

"What?"

Cas is shifting his weight off, sliding down Dean's thighs. It's impossible to miss the drag of Cas's cockhead--still wet and hot at the tip--against his skin.

"Hey, you didn't-"

"That's alright. You can sleep, now." The only thing that stops the angel from completely pulling away is the hook of Dean's lower leg around Castiel's thigh. A real feat, Dean's impressed he still has any functionality in his motor skills.

"Want you to," Dean starts, decides better of using words and chooses to make his point by sliding his ass back and canting up his hips, as best he can. Clear invitation.

The hands resume, sliding up the back of his thighs again and ending just below the curve of his ass, Dean releasing a relieved sigh and letting his eyes flutter shut only when Cas gives in and moves back up, mattress squeaking beneath them. The blunt head of Cas's dick nudges against his hole, wetter now and slipping along his crease, and Dean only has a moment to wonder if Cas had conjured up some lube rather than reach five feet away for his duffle (the lazy angel he is) before he's pressing in, no resistance, only the effortless slide and the feeling of being filled again, better now with every fiber in Dean's body gone lax.

Dean hums and lets himself sink fully into the bed, hands no longer curled against the mattress but merely resting crossed beneath his head. His hips are held in place, Cas's balls resting against his ass, and Dean's cock is soft and spent beneath him but it's good, feels better being loose and filled, something like completion.

That's the last coherent thought that flits through his mind before Dean drifts, not even clenching with the first slow thrust of Castiel's cock in him, and he thinks he might mumble something like, "Goodnight, Cas," before sleep overtakes him entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
